сломанную куклу Broken Doll
by FreckledGiraffe
Summary: Angst! Themes In the first Chapter. Lithuania finds out about Russia's problem. Something that shocks him and makes him feel for the older man.


Toris often found himself walking, absent-mindedly into fields, each as filled with sunflowers as the rest. He would work with hundreds of different types of flowers in the summer, daisies and magnolias to roses and carnations. He adored watching them grow from seed, to the early stages of becoming full grown until they had flowered and opened their petals delicately to the sun, as if totally content in its burning presence.

* * *

Roses would seem spiky and unwelcoming to many, until their buds would appear, many different shades of red and white petals appearing only spreading out until the orange light of the sunrise would help them slowly open and pucker, petals soft and delicate to the touch as, throughout the day, their stems would inch by inch, sway delicately towards the direction of the light, soaking it in and using it to grow further and further up.

Although most of the flowers would grow much like the roses, Toris was always fascinated by the height and pride of the sunflowers. He had always wondered about why Ivan had seemed fascinated by them, as, when he always came across the mighty Russian man, taller in stature, yet almost childlike in his personality, the tallest of the nations, Ivan would always carry, or smell just as the sunflowers had. One of those days, he had realized something about the sunflowers: they began to always remind him of the Russian that had taken control of him, many years ago, and the helplessly alone expression he had upheld on their first meeting.

He had sat down, and researched sunflowers, endlessly wondering why they became so intoxicating, so beautiful and so different from the rest of the flowers.

One night, he had phoned Greece, and asked him on the phone to recite him any story about sunflowers on the phone, and Heracles gladly agreed, waiting and ushering him into his dining room, as they sat down and Heracles told him about Clytie and Helios. Helios, the handsome Greek god of the sun, was the object to the affections of Clytie, a water-nymph that was so infatuated with Helios; she would always sit on the grass and gaze up at the sun, all day long, although sadly enough, Helios would never see Clytie. Eventually, Heracles told him, the other gods took pity on the infatuated nymph, that they turned her into a flower.

Toris found himself so emotionally moved by this story that he sat for several days, staring out at one particular field of sunflowers on the border of Russian territory, sat down and observing the movements of the delicate, yet tall flowers, faces following the sun, too much like Clytie in the story. After that day, he had walked home and cried. He had curled up within himself, knees brought to his chest and felt completely helpless, thinking about how the nymph would stare helplessly at her love, wishing endlessly about perhaps getting recognition from the mighty god, but never

Through daily discussions with his best friend, Feliks, he now found himself swaying and wondering, and worrying about how the same mighty nation that had gave him such an alone, such a helpless and forlorn expression, clouded now with fake pride, a childlike mask to hide the broken heart held inside. Toris wondered what the real Ivan was like, inside, without the masks he adorned to stop the hurt.

* * *

He remembered working for Ivan before, but Ivan would shut himself away in his room and ask Toris to look after the statues in the garden, dusting inside of the house as-well. Nobody would ever approach or knock on the mighty nations' bedroom door Since the tall Russian lived inside the palace, Toris would often have found himself working day in, day out, although, once Latvia and Estonia joined him, he only chose to dust one particular area of the palace, and only cleaned the statues in the garden on the weekends.

On the rare occasions in which Russia would tiptoe down the great stairs down to the dining room, Toris would find himself so embarrassed when those violet eyes would follow his body across the room, that he began blushing constantly when he received praise that Eduard and Raivis would be jealous of. But he never understood why he blushed under that attention, and after one time when both their eyes had locked when he caught the taller man's eyes staring from the other side of the room, focused on his irises in such an intimate way that he found himself edging closer towards him, eventually becoming so close that the other nation fell to the floor, tall body clumsy and causing a crashing sound when four more chairs toppled over.

At that time, the more dominant nation had looked for a second, away to the chairs and for one, small moment, fear flashed within those endless pools of violet. For that moment Toris had this itch to reach forward and stroke the cheek that even he found that Ivan himself would not unconsciously touch. The cheek he never saw red, never with any scars or bruises. Instead he would find himself noticing that the Russian never went out in the sun for the summer, he would close his windows and shut his curtains, wallowing in the shade and refusing to come outside. Until July came, and he told the Baltics to take care of themselves in the palace when he disappeared to the sunflower fields.

* * *

After a few weeks of being in the other Baltic nation's company, Estonia told him of their master's relatives, and how Russia was increasingly afraid of women. Although Toris would not get his problem with women, when he saw Ivan's little sister, Belarus, the next day.

He had, once he had sprung eyes on the cold-eyed yet beautiful sister of his master, developed, to his own awareness, a crush against the younger girl. Every time he saw her, he would run out of things to say because of her overwhelming beauty in his eyes. Her blue eyes and long, light-blonde locks adorned with a single white bow would mesmerise him, as well as her curved figure, and the dark blue dress she would wear everywhere. Apart from the times he saw her in the mornings in a white lacy nightdress, her hair unruly and curled, eyes tired and swollen, in the harsh light of the morning. At those times, he thought her natural beauty was even more revealing to her nature than anything else.

Often he would find her sneaking into the palace gardens, trying to climb into her brother's room. He didn't get this at first, but after Latvia spoke up one evening to him, he realized Russia's own sister, Belarus, was too deeply infatuated with her brother that she wouldn't let anything, or anyone else go near him. After that, he still pined for Belarus, but felt a feeling of hurt every time he heard her speak to him and saw her chase after her brother's rapidly running figure, across the gardens in which he would be forced to flee to, clumsily knocking plants over which he would trail after and pick back up again.

He had, really wanted to ask her out for a date, but he knew he would have no chance.

* * *

Of course, after he had to split and stop working at Russia's house, he returned to his own, waving Russia goodbye through the heavy blizzard, his figure faint, but stood tall, yet somehow less powerful than it had before. A soft pang was felt in his chest when he turned and got inside the carriage, a miserable little hole that, even after weeks of being back, couldn't fill or try and heal.

When he saw the sunflowers he owned the summer afterwards, he remembered.

One day he had come across Russia as he had been gardening, abandoning his requests to keep the Baltics in the house and unlocking the door to run towards the gardens, most of all the rose beds close by to the sunflowers.

He heard a sound of sobbing. It was nearly Sunset, yet he didn't want to disturb the person sobbing, so he stood behind a tree and slowly inched to sneak a look at what was happening to make someone wail so desperately and helplessly. To his surprise, a hunched up figure was sat , watching the sun set and a wet pool of tears was around him.

'Что же мне делать, мама?' He heard the low Russian tone and instantly recognized Ivan's voice, speaking to himself. The Russian was shaking visibly now, ripping his clothes apart with no effort put, flourishing something silver and metal.

Toris had a sickening feeling in his heart, a sort of plunge in his abdomen as he realized that all of those days when he had been asked to let Russia be in his room alone, those days when he had felt his heated gaze follow him in the morning, in the evening, Ivan had been cutting himself. The muffled screams that he had sometimes heard when dusting upstairs in the evening, had all come in the direction of Russia's room. He may even have been doing it even before he had took the Baltics, and the others.

* * *

Thin marks marked all over the Russian's thinly muscled body, over his back and arms and neck. He focused and moved a bit around the tree to discover that most of the more recent marks were across his neck. He had remembered wondering why a tall man of his master's height would not bare one bit, apart from his hands and face, to the world, even when there was a hot, roaring fire in the palace, frowning each time Ivan had said 'Nyet' to his offers of running him a bath and helping him into the bath, and now it all added up, in a downcast, depressing sort of way.

Russia, even though nobody but Toris knew, was a fragile and sad nation. He only wore a mask to stop the frequent reminders of his past. Once, there was a happy and jolly nation. A prince that had no fear, gold and hazel and cream, just as the sunflowers were. A Prince that was given a princess. That had a royal family, a happy nation and the same land it has now. Although when the portrait, the essence of that was broken, so too was Ivan, inside he had probably felt hollow, not understood, not loved. Inside, the man that was broken inside, the man behind the mask, went through turmoil, trying to regain his past spirit, his past charisma, his humour and his happiness.

He began to understand this fully only the months after the blizzard, the days when Toris began to go through his library and remember all the details, all the parts that Russia began to miss, began to clutch onto when they left him, stranded, misunderstood. Alone.

Alone was something nobody Toris knew had liked. Being alone, and feeling worthless, used, like a pawn, was something everyone hated. Although Toris had tried to regain independence when Russia was his master, and he was used as a pawn by Russia, he couldn't help but retain the image of him, with that same downhearted, put down expression in his mind. He couldn't help but think that the day he had seen that complete surrender of the older male's mask, the day where he could read the angst and overwhelming sadness in his eyes as he turned around and beckoned Lithuania to go back inside the safety of the house, that he really wanted to help him.

* * *

And that summer, then began the dreams.

Every night, Toris would dream about him. Dark, snowy nights, the moon taking its place in the sky, and making Ivan's face appear white and his eyes lighter purple than before. Taking the older man's hands in his and staring directly into the endless violet abyss of his eyes, reassuring him that everything was okay, doing pretty much anything to help him. Making his bed and lying in it with him, pulling the older into a hug and letting him go, cry himself to sleep, and Toris would gently wipe his tears away, pulling him in to kiss his forehead and holding him close. Every morning, he would be woken up just before he would be able to touch him, get a response from those violet eyes. And thus, he maintained a hole in his soul, a part that he couldn't fill, a piece of him that wanted to be anywhere near the Russian man, a man that he needed to see, needed to be assured was alright.

So after a month of nagging from Eduard, Raivis, and eventually Feliks, who had become tired of his new ability of trailing off into daydreams, Toris not looking completely awake during their daily conversations. While they trailed through their gardens, venturing towards lakes, the heavy sun beating down on his pale skin, he decided he would have to see him.

"Ei, Eduard, do you know if the nations' ball is happening this year?"

* * *

(AAAAANDDD I'M LEAVING YOU GUYS WITH A HANGCLIFFER. Hope you guys love this . I need feedback or there is gon' be naw smut coming uurrrpp Q_Q. And do tell me what type of smut to do 3)

FreckledGiraffe 3


End file.
